


Hard to Swallow

by BirdInTheCave



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Be Nice to Clint Barton, But they're all supportive roles, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Curious Cooper Barton, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Laura is unimportant, Only Cooper and Clint Matter, So is everyone but Cooper and Clint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 11:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18799708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdInTheCave/pseuds/BirdInTheCave
Summary: Cooper is older and he's learned to stop accepting everything he's told. He's curious, and he's tired of being left out of the loop as Clint comes home banged up and hurt even when the Avengers hadn't done anything. Cooper was over being out of loop, not allowed into the secret "need to know" group. He was sick of seeing his mother get mad at his father and having no idea why. He was especially sick of sometimes seeing Clint up at obscene hours of the night with a haunted look in his eyes that scared Cooper to his core. He wasn't just some kid anymore, and he demanded to know what thehellwas going on.-Or-In which Cooper can't take not knowing anymore, and Clint is younger than we think.





	Hard to Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me at 3 a.m and I just had to start it. I don't like the Barton family, and I'm glad they're really MCU exclusive, but the kids are growing on me. Not to mention, I can't pass up any form of Clint angst my brain spits out. Enjoy some good ol' familial bullshit.

Cooper watched the door with curious eyes. The couch warm and worn underneath him but his neck twisted awkwardly to give him the best view of the door just to his left. The footsteps stumbling up the porch steps outside were loud and heavy and uncoordinated and, vaguely, Cooper wondered if a stray drunk waddled up to his house at ten p.m on a Thursday. His theory, however, was thrown completely out the window when instead of a knock the door simply opened. Knowing no one in their podunk town would do such a thing, Cooper was immediately aware that there was either a _very_ drunk man in his house or his dad was home. 

He was happy to see it was, indeed, Clint Barton that stumbled into the foyer. He was significantly less happy seeing the blood smeared through the man’s hair, dripping from a still bleeding nose, and drenching the right hip of his black tactical suit. Cooper was tripping over himself as he rushed to his feet, toes hooking on the back of the opposite heel and almost sending him sprawling. Clint’s head snapped towards his son, hand twitching towards the quiver on his back instinctively and stormy eyes narrowing into calculating slits before he realized who was there and they blew wide open. 

“Cooper!” The tone was surprised, tinted with irritation and worry. Clint crouched, holding out his arms and steadying the boy by the shoulders when he practically tumbled into his father. He held Cooper an arm’s length away and looked him over quickly, noting the complete lack of injury and what Cooper was sure to be a face exploding with concern and borderline panic, “Why are you up so late, Bud?” 

Cooper gave his dad the most incredulous look he knew he could make, scoffing as rudely as possible and ignoring how Clint’s grip on his shoulders tightened the slightest bit, “I’m fifteen, dad, I stay up later than I did when I was a kid.” He reminded before shaking his head, “Not the point!” He declared, waving his hands and knocking away his father’s warm grip. “You literally come stumbling in covered in blood and you’re asking me why I’m _up late_?” He asked, feeding as much annoyance into his voice as humanly possible. 

He watched as his father seemed to reassess the situation, glancing Cooper over again like he was searching for something. Cooper knew whatever solution Clint reached wasn’t one he liked when his father’s features steeled and gray eyes moved away. 

“I need to find your mother, go to bed.” The man’s voice was stern as he wiped away the blood under his nose and smeared it across his exposed forearm. He turned back to Cooper for a moment, harden features remaining but warmth flooding cool-toned eyes, and ruffled the boy’s brown hair. Cooper complained, but they both knew the exchange was a comfort of normality for both of them. “Go to sleep, Coop.” With that he walked away, disappearing into the kitchen and leaving droplets of scarlet in his wake. 

Cooper, knowing he’d be caught if he even thought of following, trudged up the steps with a hunger for answers he wasn’t sure would ever be satisfied. 

**_____________________**

Cooper was sat on one of the tall stools situated next to the breakfast bar in their kitchen. The stools were relatively new, replacing old wicker chairs that the boy had found uncomfortable anyway. Lila had been upset, having been needlessly attached to them, but they let her keep one for her a room so they had been tossed the day after. Cooper liked the new chairs better anyway, they were cushioned and didn’t dig into his back or leave marks on his thighs when he wore shorts. They were ultimately and objectively better, no matter what Lila thought. Nate wasn’t allowed on them, though. He was far too small and wild and fell off too easy. 

He was situated on one of the stools with his parents cooking together in front of him. The one farthest to the right because he had claimed it as his and no one was allowed to steal it but Aunt Natasha because not even Clint would try and convince her to move if she decided to take it. His homework was laid out in front of him, advanced algebra workbook opened to the side and notebook positioned directly in front of him. He twirled his pencil in his hands, fumbling occasionally and wishing, not for the first time, that his dad’s coordination and skill were hereditary. 

He was about to ask for help for a problem, the charts weren’t the easiest thing for him to comprehend if he was being honest, when the sound of shattering glass startled him so badly his voice died and lodged itself in his throat. His head jerked up, gaze flicking around wildly in search of the source, and his eyes immediately fell out where his mother stood. She was leaning down, one hand holding long hair out of her face and the other picking up what he could only assume was the obviously broken object. She straightened moments later, pieces of a broken glass in hand, and dumped the shards into the trash can next to Cooper. He ignored her as she turned back, apologizing quietly for her clumsiness with a light chuckle. Instead he turned to his father. Clint was frozen where he had been expertly chopping carrots, head ducked and arm ever-so-slightly trembling thanks to how hard he was now grabbing the hilt of the knife. 

“Dad?” He tried lowly, eyebrow scrunching up in confusion. He’d never seen his father like this, shaking while he ignored whatever possibly disastrous thing just happened. Laura could’ve stepped on the glass, or Nate could have come rushing in at the sound, or _something_. But there was nothing, no reaction except freezing. If it weren’t for the subtle tremors, Coopers would think his dad a statue. “Dad?” He tried again. 

That got Laura’s attention. The woman finished cleaning up the broken glass, luckily only large shards and some stray nuggets, approached Clint slowly. Cooper watched like he was enraptured in the intense ending of a book. He watched as his mother approached his father with caution, raising her hands as one would to a frightened child. He watched as she carefully whispered his father’s name. Watched at his father _flinched_. He felt something shift him, something embedded and primal activate, when his dad turned to his mom with eyes unfocused and lost. He left when his mom waved him out and pulled his dad into a loose but comforting embrace, tucking the man’s head into the crook of her neck like she would when Cooper or his siblings had nightmares. 

They had pizza that night. 

**_____________________**

Cooper came trudging down that stairs at 4 a.m rubbing at his eyes the palm of his hand. He was tired, limbs heavy and eyelids heavier, but he’d stayed up late finished a book he kept promising himself “one more chapter” with. He had been endlessly satisfied with the ending, but then he’d looked at the clock and felt exhaustion hit him like a train. However, he had to get up to get ready for school in less than two hours and sometimes no sleep was just better than taunting himself with whispers of what a good night’s rest could have been. So instead he’d gotten up and took it upon himself waddle down the stairs at this ridiculous hour so he could get something to chase way the cotton-filled texture of his mouth that had his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

He shuffled into the kitchen like a zombie and grabbed one of the tall glasses from the cabinet above the stove. He couldn’t help but notice how one of the designated spaces wasn’t filled, one of the identical glasses having shattered on that very floor a few weeks back. That glass had triggered something in his father that Cooper never wanted to even glimpse again. What he had seen had scared him, horrified him, maybe even traumatized him to some extent. His father was a hero, a man of many talents that ran with the best of the best, but seeing the haunted look that had lived in his eyes in that moment… it brought down the harsh reality of what his father must see when saving the world. 

Cooper took his cup with a gentle shake of his head that had the world shifting on its axis and moved to the fridge. He gently pressed his cup to the water dispenser on the door and waited impatiently for the cup to fill so he could return to his room and wallow in the self-torture he’s subjecting himself to by staying up. That’s when he heard the shifting, the sound of movement on one of the leather pieces of furniture in the living room. Blinking sluggishly, Cooper put his cup on the counter and directed his shuffle towards the sounds. When he was close enough he peeked around the corner and looked in. 

Clint was laid out on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes, but he kept shifting. He twisted one way, then the other, drawing a leg up before letting it fall back down. 

Cooper assumed he just couldn’t get comfortable, trying to fall back asleep on the couch because it was too late to stumble up the stairs. He gasped when the arm covering his father’s face fell away and revealed the tears pooling in the lines of his eyes, glistening in the low light. Cooper watched as he twisted, but with the new knowledge it didn’t look like he was trying to get comfortable. Instead, it looked like he was struggling, trying to escape whatever horrors haunted him in his sleep. Cooper was about to move to wake his father when the man bolted upright with a choked sound that sent cold shivers through the boy’s body. For a long moment, Clint just stared blankly at the wall like even he was trying to process what just happened. When the tears began to drip down his face and a strained sob ripped its way through clenched teeth Cooper was fleeing as fast as he could up the stairs as silently as possible. He’d never seen his father cry like that before and it was almost as horrifying and revealing as what had happened in the kitchen. 

He didn’t realize he’d left his water in the kitchen until he saw it on the counter on his way to school two hours later. 

**_____________________**

The next incident, as Cooper called them, didn’t come around for another two months. Cooper cursed himself for luring himself into a false sense of security. 

Again, he found himself hopping down the stairs at 4 a.m, but this time he was much more energized. It was the first day of summer vacation, and he was too pumped to be on break to be tired. He was on his way down to the kitchen again to grab a soda when he stopped dead in his tracks. 

Clint was stood in the kitchen, arms braced against the top of the bar facing Cooper. But Clint’s head was ducked, eyes unfocused as he gazed into the still glass of water placed before him. His body was coiled tight with tension, hair matted, body trembling. It was the same state from almost a month ago that Cooper hated with everything he had. Seeing this shattered the image of his father that had been built up from fifteen long years. It tainted everything Cooper knew, and he loathed it. 

He didn’t try for his soda, he didn’t try to talk to his dad. He turned from the scene, he didn’t need to see it anyway as it was ingrained permanently in his memory now, and walked up the stairs with a bone-deep exhaustion he’d never felt before. 

A part of him was sickly satisfied the next day when his mom tells him Clint was called away on a mission because he didn’t want to see the man after what he’d seen that night. 

When Clint came home two days later with bruises and littered with scratches Cooper wasn’t there to greet him like he always was. He was huddled up in his room with the door cracked open so he could hear the merry words shared. 

He felt like he was listening in on a family he didn’t know. 

**_____________________**

Finally, almost two weeks after his father’s return home, Cooper seeks him out. 

He was so tired of not knowing. He was so anxious from all the tip-toing he’d been doing in his father’s presence. He was over being left in the dark. He wasn’t a _damn_ kid anymore. It took him a while to realize what he’d seen had scare him so badly because he had no idea how to help. He didn’t know what to do when things like this happened or if he could do anything and he had a flimsy understanding of what exactly his father was capable of. All of that coupled with the problem you can’t google solutions to problems you don’t know the name of, Cooper felt so very lost. 

There had been nights since that first encounter that he cried himself to sleep because thinking about it had left him feeling so very empty and scared and alone. He’d spent days playing with Nate so he could avoid his father. Spent hours helping Lila with homework so Clint would leave the room to go do something else. 

He was _tired_. Most of all he was tired of avoiding his dad. 

So here he was, taking a deep breath before climbing out the open window that lead to the highest point of the ranch house’s roof. He seen his mother scold Clint about coming out here sometimes, and seeing as he wasn’t in his room sleeping with mom, there was only one other unsearched place to look. 

The night air was cold, summoning goosebumps across his skin, but the stars twinkled high in the sky and chased away whatever chill resided deep within Cooper’s stomach. The sight reminded him of one of the scenes described in his novels, young hero stood tall while they gaze up at the galaxies painted up above while thinking about the preparation of their taxing mission. That was Cooper. His father spent so much time being the hero, saving lives, standing tall and proud and allowing others to crumble. It was Cooper’s turn now. 

“Hey, Coop,” His father’s low voice startled him, drifting over on the lonely night’s breeze. He followed to sound, spotting his father sat on the edge of the roof with legs hanging over the edge. The man wasn’t turned to the boy, but he had known Cooper was there from the moment he showed up. The teen was sure of it. 

“Hey Dad.” Cooper whispered, staring with feelings of uncertainty and cold determination in his chest. He swallowed hard, unwanted tears springing up for unwanted reasons. He didn’t understand the maelstrom of emotions that whirled in his chest now but he was certain that the stars couldn’t chase away the chill that they brought on. He suddenly wasn’t so certain he could handle the confrontation he’d come for. He felt his chest constrict, throat closing, so he didn’t speak. Instead he walked fearfully towards his father, mind warning him that he could slip and to be careful. He was a few feet from the edge and a few feet from his father was he sat down, crossing his legs beneath him and grasping his ankles tightly. 

He swallowed again. 

“What do you need?” Clint asked, but he sounded almost defeated. Cooper imagined that that was the lost tone that should accompany the lost look that had been on his father’s face during the glass incident. They were lost together, he decided. Maybe they could be found together, too. 

“I think,” Cooper’s voice was strained, emotional grasping the words thickly. They seemed to echo in the steady air. All had gone still. The stars appeared to have stopped twinkling, the breeze had stopped blowing. Cooper watched his father’s chest rise in fall for a moment, just to assure himself that time hadn’t stopped. “I think we need to talk, Dad.” He voice cracked, quiet words tightly filling the space between them like bricks building a wall. 

“Yeah,” Clint breathed, and despite the fact that Cooper could just barely glimpse a side a his dad’s face he saw the man blink rapidly. There were no tears, just a need to focus; pull himself out of his head. It ripped a pit open in Cooper’s stomach. His dad turned to him and Cooper flinched at the defeated look in eyes he was so used to being filled with warmth and love. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but the P.O.V switch was too unnatural if it followed the sereneness that Cooper's last scene had.


End file.
